


Modeling

by calenlily



Series: Explorations [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Angel is a Serious Artist, Buffy is not a good model, Canonical Underage Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Nude Modeling, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:34:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25048513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calenlily/pseuds/calenlily
Summary: When Buffy discovers that much of the art adorning Angel’s walls is his own work, she roams the apartment, curious and delighted, asking him questions about this piece and that.Then she stops short in the middle of a sentence, suddenly overcome with a fit of giggles. She stretches out on his bed and shoots him a mischievous smile. “Draw me like one of your French girls.”
Relationships: Angel/Buffy Summers
Series: Explorations [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2040958
Comments: 4
Kudos: 62





	Modeling

**Author's Note:**

> When I realized that _Titanic_ was released in the middle of BtVS s2 (between _Ted_ and _Bad Eggs_ , to be precise), this scenario demanded to be written.
> 
> Dedicated to all the lovely folks on the Joyous Rebellion Discord server for their support, encouragement, and feeding of my plot bunnies.

When Buffy discovers that much of the art adorning Angel’s walls is his own work, she roams the apartment, curious and delighted, asking him questions about this piece and that.

Then she stops short in the middle of a sentence, suddenly overcome with a fit of giggles. She stretches out on his bed and shoots him a mischievous smile. “Draw me like one of your French girls.”

Angel blinks. “What?”

“Titanic, remember?”

He racks his brain, trying to place the reference. Buffy had all but dragged him to the theater along with her friends the previous week, insisting that it was an “inherently date-y movie”. While it wasn’t his top choice of how to spend their time together, the way she’d stayed nestled against his side the entire time meant he hadn’t particularly minded – but his attention had been more focused on the petite blonde in his arms than on the (rather overwrought and ahistorical) events onscreen, and recollection of the plot is difficult now.

He smiles slowly when the scene she’s referencing finally comes to mind. “If you want to model for me, I have no objections,” he says, moving to sit beside her at the head of the bed. “But I seem to recall that scene involved rather fewer clothes than you’re currently wearing.”

Her blush is a thing of beauty. There’s a momentary spike of anxiety in her scent, but it’s quickly overwhelmed by arousal. “I can work with that,” Buffy says with a grin, never one to shy from a challenge.

She crosses her arms at her waist and pulls, peeling her tank top off over her head. He runs his hands over her exposed sides and up her arms before taking the garment from her hands, turning aside to fold it while she shimmies out of her skirt and panties. She pulls out the clip that secures her hair and with a toss of her head the mass of it comes tumbling down to brush her shoulders, framing her face in a golden cloud.

When she’s wearing nothing but the necklace he’d given her at their first meeting, he guides her to stretch out on her side. Her fair skin makes a striking contrast against the crimson comforter, and he takes a moment to just admire the view.

***

This was an excellent idea, Buffy congratulates herself as Angel’s eyes roam appreciatively over her body and his cool hands adjust her position to his satisfaction.

Fifteen minutes later, she’s wondering if it was such a good idea after all. Her boyfriend’s gaze has turned impersonal, his focus intent on the sketch pad in his hands, and it’s ... well, okay, Angel being all Serious Artist is definitely hot in its own way. But still, being naked in front of him had been more exciting than this in her imagination.

Worse, she’s lost track of how many times he’s had to tell her to tip her chin up or move her arm in or stay still. His voice is gentle, infinitely patient, and that almost makes her feel like more of a disappointment than if he’d been annoyed with her. She’s trying to hold her posture and not fidget, really she is, it’s just hard.

“This seemed sexier in the movie,” she complains, and then berates herself for sounding like a petulant child. She wants to be mature and grown up for him.

But Angel only chuckles indulgently, and sets down his pencil and paper. “I think that’s my cue that it’s time to call it for tonight.”

“No, it’s fine,” Buffy protests, chagrined. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t – I want to finish.”

He leaves the sketch pad behind anyway and comes to sit beside her again. “There’s nothing that says this has to be done in one sitting. Buffy, I _know_ stillness isn’t your strong suit. You’ve been very patient so far; I don’t intend to torture you.”

“But –” He stops her before she can form any further protest, kissing the pout from her lips.

The heat is back in his eyes. She can feel herself melting, and she’s only too happy to let him pull her onto his lap.

She unclasps her necklace and tosses it atop the pile of her clothes before swiveling back around to drape her arms about his neck and indulge in a deeper, longer kiss.

Angel cups the back of her head with one large hand, fingers threading through her hair while his thumb strokes over her cheek. His other hand runs up and down her back, and just that simple touch is almost unbearably sensual.

She squirms in his lap, and reaches for the buttons of his shirt. She wants to be able to feel as much of him as he is of her.

He lets her peel open the shirt and slip it from his shoulders, baring the broad planes of his chest to her exploring hands and lips, but forestalls her when she reaches for his belt. “For the time being, I think it’s wiser if only one of us is undressed at once.”

Buffy pouts, but complies, settling for stroking him through his pants. Every night she’s over here, a part of her wonders if it’s going to be The Night, but always he reins them in.

Honestly, he’s probably right to be putting the brakes on; the thought of crossing that threshold still terrifies her nearly as much as it excites her. But she reserves the right to be frustrated; patience has never been her strong suit any more than stillness is.

She’s not _too_ frustrated, though, because it turns out there’s a whole world of exploration in between that she’d never dreamed of, and it’s not like she hasn’t very much enjoyed all the things he’s been showing her....

Slowly he bends her backward, laying her back on the bed, and moves to stretch out beside her. He props himself on one elbow, drinking her in with his hungry gaze, while his other hand caresses her from shoulder to hip.

He reaches for her hand and draws it to him, kisses the pulse point at her wrist. His lips trail up the inside of her arm and his cool exhalation against her skin raises goosebumps.

Buffy uses his grip on her wrist to tug him closer, hoping to pull him down atop her; she wants to feel the weight of his body pressing her into the bed, the friction of his hardness against her. But he rolls with the motion and instead comes up kneeling over her. He shifts his attention to her neck and the hollow of her collarbones, but shows no inclination to let up on the slow sensual torment he’s been visiting on her. She mewls and rolls her hips in restless circles against the bed.

He cups a breast in one large hand, gently kneading the soft flesh while his thumb runs over the hardened peak of her nipple. His mouth soon follows, closing around her other breast. She buries her hands in his hair, pressing him closer as his tongue traces slow circles on her skin.

She doesn’t know whether it’s too soon or not soon enough that he moves on from her breasts to continue his slow path down her body. He seems intent on exploring every inch of exposed skin, driving her mad with need. His hands curve around her sides, fingertips meeting at the small of her back while his thumbs brush the bottom of her ribcage, and his mouth trails over her stomach.

Angel kneels before her and pulls her legs over his shoulders, and, oh God, this is _very_ new territory and she’s not sure what to make of it. He looks up at her with eyes so dark, so full of carnal knowledge and wicked promises that she can’t help but shiver. “I want to taste you,” he murmurs.

His fingers trace the ridge of her hipbones as his mouth moves up her inner thigh, both maddeningly light. She shudders and squirms under the teasing touch. She’s on the edge of pleading by the time his fingers move to where she really wants them, stroking over her slick folds.

Then his hand moves away and his mouth settles over her in its place, his cool tongue probing inside her. She feels like she should be self-conscious about this but she can’t because she can’t even _think_.

The sensations he’s creating in her are almost too intense, and she whimpers helplessly. She doesn’t know whether she wants to beg him to stop or to never stop, to push him away or to pull him closer.

His firm grasp on her hips won’t let her do either, holding her solidly in place as his talented mouth keeps working her, keeps driving her higher. Then one of his hands moves to stroke her clit, and the addition is enough to send her incoherent with pleasure.

She breaks free of the remaining hand restraining her. Mindlessly she grinds her hips against his face and her thighs clench and a long keening cry spills from her lips as her world explodes into starbursts of ecstasy.

When Buffy comes back to herself, she processes the way her thighs are clamped tightly around his head with a sudden horror that pierces her pleasure-haze. She pulls away hurriedly, remembering how many times she’s caused her friends pain just by forgetting her strength and hugging them too hard.

“Oh God, Angel, did I hurt you?” she asks breathlessly. But when she meets his eyes, she sees no pain, only a confusion that quickly clears.

“Not at all, sweetheart. I’m fine.” He gathers her up in his arms, cradles her against his chest. His voice is gentle, understanding and reassuring, and she feels silly for her fear as she remembers that this is _Angel_ , the one person in her life with strength to match her own. “You don’t need to worry about letting yourself go, not with me. Never with me.”

They really are a freaky kind of perfect for each other, Buffy thinks. She’s filled with relief and gratitude and more love than she knows how to express in words, so she leans forward to kiss him fervently.

She can taste herself on him; it’s a little weird, but not unpleasant. She shifts until she is straddling his lap, and smiles against his lips as she wonders what else he has to teach her.

***

She never does get around to posing for him again.


End file.
